Star Crossed
by Chasing After Time
Summary: ‘The arrival of Micheal Langdon should have put her on edge. When she looked at him, she should have felt a wave of rage as the others described, should have shared in their thoughts of a plan to stop him. But instead, she felt that tug, stronger; at her heart, her mind, every inch of her.’
1. 1-Amor Primo Aspectu

_{This is my first Micheal x Mallory AU. I really love their relationship, and wanted to expand. When the season ended and I was left with nothing between the two, I knew I had to write something- and here it is. I hope you enjoy it, and please leave feedback!} _

Mallory had never been in love. Admittedly, she was young- she had not met many people that could possibly share something with her. But there was always a constant pull; the tugging of a string from so far away, one she could never identify or weaken. It was just _there. _Cordelia had told her that it was normal for a witch to feel this way, especially a rising one- that it was merely her magic, locked away and slowly being distributed to her.

And, on calm days, she wouldn't fight the thought.

On restless days, anything _but. _

It was selfish to think of things like her love life when the world was teetering on the brink of collapse, and she was one of the key players. Not when her mentor- someone closer to her then her own mother- was fading away, coming closer to the end, and there was nothing that she could do to stop it.

The arrival of Micheal Langdon should have put her on edge. When she looked at him, she should have felt a wave of rage as the others described, should have shared in their thoughts of a plan to stop him. But instead, she felt that tug, stronger; at her heart, her mind, every inch of her. It was like fire and ice, rage and passion.

Cordelia had welcomed him with little resistance. She had not told them of a plan- a hint of what life would be like if he was the Supreme, what they should do when she died- and had instead encouraged them to interact with the boy as if he was a normal member of the Coven, and help him hone his skills. Mallory had tried to comply.

"Micheal." He had extended his hand, his warm breath coming closer, soft strands of her own hair moving with the gentle rhythm. He had just arrived, washed adrift with bags and luggage. Cordelia had given him a hug- _a hug- _and then waved him over to the others. Zoe had been formal, polite, as that was her very aura. The others had pushed out words intended to be kind, but had succumbed to the more bitter half of themselves, all the while giving him major side eye.

And then he had introduced himself to her, his sparkling blue eyes meeting her own brown. She hasn't known how she would react- it wasn't as if she had been trained for the very moment that they would interact- but it was if it had not been up to her anyway. Her body acted involuntary, and she held his gaze; her back straightening and her face turning pale. He had returned it still, and it had seemed as if they had been lost in each other, in the moment, without any actual contact.

"Mallory." She whispered suddenly, taking one step back, almost slipping on the polished floor beneath her. The moment had been broken, and- now that it wasn't there- it was as if it had never happened at all. If he had gotten any closer, if he had spoken any more words to her, then she would have lost control completely and wrought havoc on them all.

He turned away, his gaze turning next to the stairs. It hurt- that string pulled taught, and she felt as if it might reach up and wind around them both, to stop him from leaving and turning away from her- but it was still too far away.

_What was that? _

She couldn't describe it as love. They had only just met, and every image she had painted in her head of him had been of a cruel, demonic being resembling a man. Cordelia's vision had been spread far and wide through the school, corrupting their own dreams for the future.

_That wasn't hate. _

Her stomach lurched as he started to walk up the stairs, his shoes making soft sounds that still seemed to echo through the halls, and she looked to her friends, a desperate, pitiful look taking over. Zoe noticed first, her lips pursing in worry- but that was the only reaction she had gotten before her legs had taken her where she needed to go, and the rooms passed her in a flash of white until she was at the bathroom.

Mallory had aimed for the toilet, her throat constricting with the physical weight of her emotions, the memory of _his _face flashing before her eyes. She could hear the faint worries and queries of the others, could hear the weight of Coco's footsteps echoing until they were outside the door.

"Sweetie? Are you okay?" She called out, an obvious edge of fear ringing her voice. Mallory realised how strange it must have been to see Micheal enter, and her run off in a strange terror upon meeting him. Maybe they thought that she was his new target- the next to wither away. Maybe she really was his next prey, and this was revenge against all the witches; to make the most vulnerable fall for him desperately, for them to watch as she grew pathetic and left herself to him.

_Why am I thinking like this? _

"All good. Just felt a bit queasy- I think I had some shitty food for breakfast." Mallory muttered an excuse, her throat scratchy from the remnants of her food- but not just that. She felt tears blurring the edge of her vision, pain bursting in from every angle. Already, she was thinking of the future, lewd fantasies and outcomes, all involving _him _and _her. _

Coco shifted, and she could feel her hesitation. There was an unspoken question drifting between the walls, care and love emanating off of both. But fear overweighted them both.

_You know, don't you? _

And now, she couldn't deny it, no matter how stupid the words sounded to her. Something had happened between her and Micheal Langdon, in the brief moment that they had met for the first time. Something _was _happening, and she could not push it away with excuses and lies.

Mallory got up, flushing the toilet and passing the mirror, wiping the corners of her lips, before she stepped out and was greeted with the sight of her best friend, armed with a hug and a smile.

"There you go, there you go." She whispered soothingly, playing with a long strand of her hair absentmindedly, the tears she had tried to stop falling. There was a warm silence, even from her own thoughts- and Mallory relaxed, taking a deep breath and letting the oxygen flow through her, the steady motion letting her return to reality.

Cordelia was waiting at the top of the stairs, a small smile curling her lips as she took in the display of affection between her two students. "Good, Mallory. It's unfortunate that you felt sick. But you're okay now." She eyed the girl with curiosity, but another veiled presence, emotion, tucked beneath her mind. As if she knew more than Mallory could ever know- and she did.

They all waited, blending into the warm exterior of Robichaux's, the comforting knowledge that they were all a team nagging at their mind. The presence of Micheal had been an unwelcome one- it put them all in various shared states of unease, and whatever Mallory was feeling- but they were all a team, and they all would be. A coven.

_Until a soft voice interrupted their trance. _

"I wanted to apologise." Micheal stood outside his new room, those supposedly hateful eyes now gentle, and almost childlike. Mallory couldn't imagine him as the perpetrator of the end of the world- instead, a flash of a little boy, hunched over a Rubix Cube, his blonde curls like a halo around his head- passed through her mind.

"I didn't mean to upset you." He directed his next words directly towards the trembling girl, the apology clear in his mind. All the women looked at him, before putting on a facade of ease- even Mallory, though conflicting instincts fought for each other. She knew her mistake, and so averted her gaze and replaced him with a faceless man, who had just bumped into her and split his coffee over her dress.

"It's okay. I just felt a bit ill. It wasn't you at all." She gave a weak smile to the floor, forcing as much strength into her voice as she could- and, convinced that she had made an okay cover for herself, headed for her own bedroom, giving her sisters an apologetic frown. "I'm going to go and rest."

With that, she walked up the next level of stairs, still feeling the effects of those piercing blue eyes catching with hers, still hearing the echo of his voice in her ears.

Mallory knew she wouldn't sleep tonight.


	2. 2- Initum, Mihi Carus

_What a strange being you are, _

_God knows where I would be, _

_If you hadn't found me, _

_Sitting all alone in the dark_

**_Sick of Losing Soulmates/Dodie _**

The days at Robichaux had passed as a waking dream. Her show of sickness had long been forgotten, as the sun rose and set in a constant pattern. Forgotten by all but her- and him, she hoped. Micheal had become a more familiar face, showing up in most of her lessons, and always making a constant effort to please her. He would make small conversation, fumbling with his words as if he was a young boy. Once again, she could not keep the thought of a crueler man out of her mind.

But she could not feel the hate she wanted to. Not to either of the people that he could be. She could have hated the Micheal she saw now, for being so beautiful, so warm. And the other Micheal would have been easy to hate, if the sight of his face had not made a tug of desire pull deep in her chest.

Mallory had watched as he grew more confident- both in his magic, and with his socialisation. Many of the girls regarded him as a friend now- even Madison, who had once been the most disproving of his presence, had warmed to the idea of having him around.

He had approached her one day, his face bright with hope and that goofish, boyish grin. She wanted to wave him away with a weak excuse, as she had each time he tried, every day- but today, her muscles felt heavy and lead-like. He just wanted to talk to her, as he had tried with the others and succeeded. Though he seemed so childlike, there was an undertone of charm, of confidence and intelligence that she could only dream of.

"Hello." He had said simply, studying her with his eyes before fixing them to her own- something she had deeply regret the first time they had met. It made her feel deeply unsettled, and set off that same electric pulse flowing in all directions.

"Hello, Micheal." Mallory sighed, giving him a weary smile. It was as much encouragement as they had both needed to go further- to lose their feigned awkwardness and actually _talk. _Since then, they had grown close as was possible without them actually becoming anything more. They talked about useless, trivial things, always avoiding the tough subjects that haunted them all. Cordelia had once said that witches were cursed to be persecuted and thrown away, and that was the nature for all of them- and each knew that it was far too personal at the moment.

It has had been tempting- even to her, who she thought kind- to take advantage, to pose as a friend and instead retrieve his deepest secrets. It would be a sort of revenge for them not being _more. _But Mallory knew that her feelings for him could not even allow the opportunity, not allow her to betray him in any way, misplace his trust. It made her sick to even think of it, no matter the positive concequences for her coven.

She had had time to research as well. Her days had been spent in the extensive library, searching through each column, trying to find something that could remotely help her in some way. It was hard to ask someone for help without sounding like a sociopath, or a fool- someone who refused emotion, especially _this. _She could not ask to remove the curse of love.

Books upon books had gone through her hands, the words through her mind. Mallory had been so obsessed that Zoe had come to see her, her sympathy obvious, as well as curiosity. She had waved her away with the excuse of extra research, a personal project for which she had been invested in for years. It should have hurt her to lie, especially to one of the most lovely woman she had ever met- _but it didn't. _

Her first purpose, she had told herself, was to research the very notion of the Antichrist. Madison had told them of her information- the house in California, the souls cursed to be eternally lonely. Of the Harmons, a typical American family that had turned to that house for redemption, and how it had killed them. How it had given them a son.

Mallory had known this before she had even considered the face of Micheal Langdon. The information had immediately told her of what he was, where he came from.

_The Antichrist. _

The very notion now, to her, was insane. Now that she knew him, talked to him and spent time with him, it was hard to associate anything remotely satanic and evil with the boy. It was true- his beauty was that of another level, his energy that of inhuman. But he still could not be one to end the world, at least not on purpose. Even the reminder of how he was conceived, the rape and the pain that had come into the equation, was hard to keep in her mind.

It had been a week and two days when she had finally found the underlying piece of information that she had hoped for. It was a book on the Nephilim and the Divine, entailing words and magic Mallory couldn't possibly try to understand. It was at least five thousand pages long, and she had used numerous spells just to keep herself awake to read it. She had read of the soul, of the children of the divine and the blessed. It had sprouted a spark of joy inside of her- it seemed to dance in her chest, a streak of light that yearned to be free. As she read on, it grew stronger and stronger, but held no help in its magic. She frowned, but paused on a passage after rereading twice.

_At birth, two souls could be intertwined together, a seemingly perfect fit. Those who have been part of this phenomena- only possible through the hand of heaven or hell- have described an emptiness through life, a hole that they never seemed to fill. Being in the mere presence of the other soul could provoke an almost maddening sense of completeness, driving each person to find each other and partake in so called 'love.' Normally, this would only happen if these souls were descendants of heaven and hell themselves, and each had to fulfill a purpose in their love. _

The hand of heaven or hell. It wasn't just love; and it never had been. It wasn't by choice, by some natural human selection of a partner or deep rooted love. In fact, it _was _written in the very stars, by a divine being instead. Mallory could deny this, instead put it down to loneliness and yearning, latching onto the first _beautiful _man she had seen. But that was an obvious lie, even to herself.

Mallory should have been the most pliable of all the witches- even as she grew close to him, became a friend- yet she wasn't. Her yearning for him would only grow stronger if she gave in, let his eyes and his breath and his skin take her where she needed to be. That could not happen- she could not lose herself so hopelessly over a boy.

Yet, it was so hard.

Two weeks after his arrival, she had pushed open the door to her bedroom, delighting in the prospect of a break from her exhausting studies; the result of Cordelia's personal mentoring. She had taken a special interest in Mallory after studying her- she called her an enigma, with power they had never seen before.

However, Mallory was much more content with Zoe's more humble description of her- a healer. That sounded more fitting to what she had seen and felt of herself.

Mallory had swung upon the door, as she always had, and was greeted with a single, pink rose; it's petals glimmering with vibrancy, the thorns plucked out with perfect care. It lay upon her bed, a wondrous contrast to the white that usually befit it. She had always been content with the simplicity that it had held- but to think of him _here, _placing the flower on her bed, reluctant to leave and desperate to become more familiar with her place of refuge. Really, she didn't even need to think- she knew it was a memory, _his memory_, that she had been blessed to see.

The idea of him, _here, _should have terrified her, but it instead made her heart pang even more. With need- she needed him, and he knew it. Was this all just a game? Had he planted a spell on her, a curse, just so he could have some semblance of entertainment in the form of her falling madly in love with him?

_Or was it real? _

Each scared her equally, the idea of losing control completely, and that being love. And with _him._

She wanted to take the rose and tear it to pieces, send it to his room and show him her feelings, her response to his display. But instead, she thought of a single name- his name, echoing through the halls of her mind, and reaching his, because she could feel it, _him, _at the end of the door.

This, she had never felt before. If she had, it had been hidden behind that string, the empty hole in her heart that had been there since she was a child. Cordelia would praise her, Zoe would put it down to the power of _love, _and Madison would call her a foolish ho.

And how would she put it? That she couldn't answer, and neither could he. They were just children, really, trying to find themselves among a sea of others doing the same. And, in doing so, they had found each other.

Her thoughts were answered with a knock at the door.


	3. 3-Dum percusserit, percusserit

_I want to hold you close, _

_Skin pressed against me tight, _

_Hold still, close your eyes girl, _

_So lovely, it feels so right_

**_Tear You Apart/ She wants revenge_**

**Micheal- **

Micheal had never realised how much he had loved Robichaux. It had never been expected, especially for someone of his own nature- chosen or not. He especially hadn't expected to love it around the exact opposites of him, the ethereal magic the Coven exuded, taken straight from the heavens. It disgusted the part of him that he tucked away for his stay. He had never considered himself as belonging to Hell, but he knew he didn't belong here, no matter how the witches treated him.

Except Mallory.

She was a rose amongst the thorns. Gentle and delicate, her magic refined and polished, her grace angelic. Her _beauty _angelic.

When he had first met her- simply intended to shake her hand, find another witch to manipulate- he had been taken aback by her eyes. They had latched onto his, and he had been taken aback by the pure emotion he had felt. It was akin to the same intensity had felt upon discovering his grandma, her body slowly decaying- he could feel her around him, feel her presence, but yet she refused to show herself to him- but it was a different emotion. What it was, he could not identify.

And then she had rushed off to the toilet to be sick. He had heard her, that awful sounds coming from her throat as the other witches came to comfort her. Micheal wasn't sure what to think. Was she do disgusted at him, at his mere presence? Had she seen what he had intended, for her Coven, her family? Or was it towards herself, a loathing of what she had felt?

He didn't know. He had not tried to make her feel that way. He did not enjoy it either- denial. Denial had been a constant presence in his life, from those he thought he could have loved. The man he had once thought his father, Tate. His mother, Vivien. Ben. Grandma. Even his sister, who he had only met twice, each conversation bitter and dripping with hate. Micheal had been shunned and turned away, and now he could only turn to what had been set out for him.

But still, he could not deny the pleasure the life in Robichaux had given him. He knew, really, that it was the perversion of joy they all wielded, their feminine aura, awash with light. The simple things had made it impossible for him to wave away that joy.

Talking with Zoe, for one. Out of all the witches, he found her the most patient, the most welcoming. She had greeted him with a smile, and it had never left since. Growing close to her was easy, for she was lonely as it was. He had been told from Queenie of Kyle, the boy she had loved, and lost- for the murder of another witch, the one he had brought back. Micheal couldn't understand her sadness, or the punishment that had entailed the boy. Surely they knew she could come back? Surely, after all they had seen, all they had gained from the doors of death, they had expected it?

His favourite thing about the place had been the gardens. The grass was bursting with color, the flowers growing with life. It reminded him of a time when things had been simple too- when he had been in a different body, and had been a child. He remembered the rose bushes his grandma had planted- each for one of his gifts- until the garden had been covered with them.

He saw Mallory often there. He had seen Cordelia and the others praising her gifts, when they thought no one could hear. He knew that she was a healer.

In the sun, her flower crown had shone, and he thought it had made her look something like an angel. She admired the flowers with care, taking into account the beauty of each petal and thorn, before moving to the next. He recognised what she was doing- breathing vitality into all of them, until they would glow with vibrancy- and thought it so very her, though he didn't know her. He wanted to say he did.

"Mallory." Micheal had approached her one day, when the sun had begun to set and all their lessons had ended. The mood upon them all was calm- they had all watched a special 'peformace' by some of the most elite, each showing the most wondrous things. It was meant to spur them on, as well as add entertainment to an otherwise dull week. He had tried to watch, to take in the beauty as the rest did, but Mallory's own joy was much more of a show. He could feel her energy pulsating, going to heights of bliss as she watched her sisters, applauded them. He loved the way her mouth would quirk, the adorable way she would scrunch her nose. Others had noticed his unmoving gaze- reacting with either disgust or amusement. Micheal turned back and tore his eyes from her.

"Mallory." He had said, a simple statement. It occurred to him that this would only be the second word that he would say to her, and it would be something she heard on a daily basis, from countless others. Again, he felt the urge to feel that connection, and again he made eye contact. There was that same explosion, no less dull, and he relished in the sensation it gave him. It could only be described as a wholeness, though he had never been aware of an emptiness.

And she had broke it, yet again. This time, she didn't rush to be sick, or look at him with the same wonder. Instead, her expression was that of exhaustion. "Yes, Micheal?" Mallory had responded, gazing at the rest of him, still missing where he truly wanted her to look. He hesitated, confused by her short reply, her reluctance to do or say _anything _to him. He could feel emotion emanting off of her, but it could have been rage. It could have been hate.

_Why do I crave your acceptance? _

If Miss Mead was here, she would reprimand him for his behaviour- try and cleanse his mind, perverted by this feeling that made him feel like he was some distance away from his body, high up in the air. But she wasn't here, and neither was the Micheal she had raised.

"I really am sorry, Mal- Mallory. I don't know why you don't like me. I don't know why you seem so on edge." He paused, gauging her reaction at his apology. Micheal could see her hesitating, see her muscles relax and tense at his words, lost between two worlds, two paths.

She breathed in- and he saw her throat tighten, rise, the words form- and again, he saw her beauty, and he could not take his mind from it. He could see all of her, the light, and the dark, fighting for control. And more than that- she was more light than any of them, more dark than any of them. It was as if her very energy was inhuman. He saw potential, and he saw her with him- at the very end.

It'll go away.

He had to cling to that thought, because he couldn't accept the very notion that he had grown soft for a witch. One of the strongest he had seen so far. Surely it was just carnal attraction, misplaced and confused.

_Surely. _

"Okay." Mallory said simply, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears. He did not understand why she would cry, whether intentionally or not. Maybe, one day, it would have brought him joy. But now, it just made the hole in his heart pang with pain, as if it was a cavity showing the first signs of infection.

He thought that after her simple answer that would be it. That she would have accepted him, but still wished him away in her free time. That she wouldn't talk to him.

But, as a matter of fact, it has been the opposite. Mallory had clung to him as he he clung to her, her voice always bursting with joy when she caught sight of him. He could tell that she still had that sense of fear, but was ashamed of it- had buried it deep down. She thought that she was so different to him, that he was what she had been told. But she held that potential too, that dark void in her chest that ached to be full, to take what it wanted and _fuck _the concequences.

Micheal wanted to tell her this. That, now that she accepted him, she could accept herself, and her darkness. But he knew that would ruin all he had strived to achieve, all he had built up for them.

He saw it now- he saw himself on a crown of thorns, and herself on a bed of roses. She held his eye contact, and she watched with glee as the world burned- _because really, you are just the same as me. _She was his, as he was hers. It was clear.

They spent evenings in the gardens, practicing their skills and talking about mindless topics. She had told him about her goth phase in high school, about her first boyfriend, her envy towards some of the students. He had told her of his grandma, (the good bits), and of his brief time in Los Angeles. There was not much he could say that wouldn't ruin what they shared. Though she was the same, she was also different- she was a healer, a fixer. Not a killer. If he told her about the blood staining his hands, then it would be so much harder- not because she would run away, but because she would come back.

One day, he had watched as she picked flowers, delicate daisys and buttercups. She had laughed that she would make him a crown and that they could swap places, as long as he had agreed to have his nails painted- and he had laughed too. It was not the laugh that he had perfected, but the laugh that he had hidden, because it was _real. _Not many had seen that laugh, and Micheal could not remember it either.

His eyes had blurred, blocked by the summer sun, disorientated by the numerous buzzes and distant laughs that hung in the air around them. He felt like he was floating on a wave of happiness- and, for once, didn't think of the end, and instead thought of the now.

She had suddenly gasped, and he had sprung up, as if to save her from whatever there was, wrestle away the shock and the monsters. At first, he could not see her, until his gaze fell to the floor, the greenery that was tainted by a pool of blood. But it was not Mallory's- instead, a deer lay upon the ground, its legs bent at awkward angles and a low whine coming from it's throat. Mallory had bent over the animal, her eyes shining with sadness and a small sapling of hope.

Micheal was reminded of the gifts he had left grandma, the rotting rats on the sidewalk and the cats he had found strolling around the sidewalk. He had left them all on her bed, arranged in such a position that he was sure she would find artistic. She would spend the evening in her room, with the gifts; and, the next morning, a rosebush would be planted, and the gift gone.

He winced at this sudden memory, but pushed it away as he did all the others.

"Mal?" He whispered, edging closer to the animal and her trembling body, wracked with silent sobs. It was as if she wanted to be quiet, silent for the animal that had not mattered to her before now.

She didn't answer, and instead pushed her body up until he could see the whole of her face, a rose pink from the tears she had she for this _deer. _Her hands trembled as she held them to the fur, as if to stroke it, give it comfort.

_Stop. It's useless. Don't you see? _

He was so transfixed by her face once again, by the sudden surge of power that had rolled from her direction, her soft breath growing dimmer as her energy faded. Micheal didn't see the deers feet twitch, didn't see them bend and reshape, didn't see it's fur return to its once youthful shape.

It was not until she smiled, that smile that he had kept in his mind since he met her, that he realised what she had done.

That the animal was alive again was not the miracle. That the animal was a _child _again was the true miracle. To change time, the natural course of aging, was something that even Micheal had put behind him.

She raised her head, strands of hair covering the obvious expression of glee on her face, the slowly mounting realisation upon her own mind.

That night, she had not talked to him. They had exchanged glances, and it was clear that her mind had gone to a strange place that even he could not reach, at least for tonight. They both knew that her 'resurrection' would be the talk of the school. For once, he was not the centrepiece- she was. When he had layed in bed that night, he had heard Myrtle enter Cordelias room, tell her of what Mallory had done. He could hear her glee at the prospect of a possible Supreme, one that was not a man. Micheal knew what he was in her eyes- in all of them. Nothing more than a stranger, one they had to love, because their future rested on his shoulders.

_But that's not what they want. _

He had gone through the week quiet, focusing on his work and not his plans. His potions and precision were the best they could be, but he had felt more alone then ever. Micheal had always known that they would not love him, that they would do anything to get rid of him. That they still cling onto their hope and their freedom.

Why did it hurt so much? Maybe it was instead Mallory's absence, her withdrawal from their conversations and garden strolls. It was not just him, he knew. Others had complained of her ignorance. But he couldn't help but feel like it was personal.

When he had visited the library- he knew she was in there, he had felt her- she had left, trying to shape her body as if she had not seen him, though the spark in her mood said otherwise. She had seemed so small under a pile of books, and he ached to reprimand her for not asking him to help. But he knew she was not that weak, and that he had to leave her when she wanted to be left. He did not own her, no matter how his body told him he did. Instead, he went to the garden, trying to picture him against his side, growing closer, pretending it as innocent as she rubbed against him, told her silly jokes.

But she was not there.

He was silent for a moment, before kicking the floor with all his strength, dirt flying into the air, his eyes wild with anger. He didn't want to be here, to be weakened by a woman and enjoy it, let it happen. It wasn't meant to happen- but it was, and he knew it was.

He let his rage flow out, pent up as it was, bubbling and overflowing. With one click of a finger, he could eliminate over half the coven. He could do it, and forget about Mallory, grieve and forget, and let the strength roll in in waves. He could do it, and damn the concequences.

But, in the corner of his vision, a blue flash danced, a mistake against the dark night. A butterfly curled around him, ensnaring him in its vision, it's wonder. It entranced him, took his focus, until his gaze was drawn to the rose, one that Mallory had planted herself, him behind her, his hands still on her waist. She had not objected, and he had felt the spike of energy at his touch. He heard her smile then- he could hear it now.

_What are you doing to me? _

He picked the rose, forgetting the fact that it would wither and die eventually, from his actions. It seemed so full of life, of the life that she had breathed into it, that he could not see how it could ever die.

_What are you doing to me? _

He had gone to her room, confident that she was not there. He could still see her in the libary, reading her books, her conscious mind fading away as she started to sleep. Micheal was confident he would find her the next morning, her head on a book. However, it was not as late as he thought- the sky around him had grown dark, but not for the others. It was dark, but it was not anymore.

_What are you doing to me? _

He had left the rose on her bed, so enticed by the scent of her in the room, the sudden visions he could see of her in the bed, drifting away to that unknown place, her first choosing this room, finding a home in its walls. It was hard to leave, but he had managed it for her.

_What are you doing to me? _

He had gone back to his room, confused by the sun outside his window, the heat pouring in. His muscles weighed him down, but he felt as if sleep was not too far away, not held back as it had once been. He had tried, to dull his mind, his thoughts, until a presence was there with him. It whispered, unintelligible thoughts, holding with them their own sense of light. He only heard one word, calling him through the corridors of Robichaux, past the rooms and the doors. It left him at one alone, one he had only seen once, not too long ago. He could feel the force, pushing him to enter that room, and he knew he could not resist as he knocked.

And when it had opened- her face so sweet behind the door, the present revealed- he could only say what he had been haunted by for weeks.

"_What are you doing to me?" _


	4. 4- Peredit in tempore

_I still swear you are,_

_I still swear you are,_

_I still swear you are,_

_good for me_

**_Lethal/ Cloudeater _**

**Mallory- **

_What are you doing to me? _

His eyes were haunted, his face pale and matted with dirt, dust, his hair hanging around his face, a halo. But it was clear that he wasn't happy- not as he would have been when he left the rose.

_What are you doing to me? _

She hated that she loved him. He hated what he was feeling for her- love or lust, an emotion that he clearly couldn't handle. Mallory didn't want it, but she _did enjoy it, _because it was the most free she had ever felt. It was ironic, that being trapped in his gaze, in his hold, made her feel free- but it was the utter truth.

Mallory paused. What would he want her to say? What would she say? It was an impossible question, with an equally impossible answer.

_I am doing nothing to you. _

_I am doing everything. _

An impossible question could only be answered with an action.

She leaned up, not studying his face, not pausing, because she was sure she would regret it if she stopped, if she thought about what she was doing. Mallory just _did, _and _fuck the concequences. _His lips were unyielding at first, unresponsive to her, until she felt that tug again, and he groaned, a deep sound that made her tingle.

Micheal returned the kiss, and all was perfect.

Mallory had lost all sense of time, all sense of purpose. All that mattered, in this moment, and for the short future, was _his lips on hers, his body on hers, his body with hers. _And it was impossible, but now, it was possible.

It didn't matter that this wasn't by choice. That this was something neither of them could control- because, love never was. _It didn't matter. _

A deep wave of lust overtook her, and but his lip, aching to taste him, to consume him, and for him to consume her in the fire he held back for her, the passion that was unfamiliar and so welcome.

Mallory closed her eyes, so mesmerised by the sensations and the pleasure and the pain that she was sure that she would drift away on a sea of darkness, would be stuck in this moment forever.

She didn't realise at first that he had pushed her away with all of his force, her skull slamming into the back of the bed, the frame making a dull thud as her body keeled over from the force. It was only when he let out a cry of surprise that she opened her eyes, and came to reality. It was his pain, his shock, that brought her back- not her own.

Her head ached and her vision swam with shapes and colours. It was overwhelming, the pain and the remnants of what she had felt earlier. But he was no longer around her, he was no longer in her arms and her in his.

"I-I'm sorry..." Mallory heard a weak voice squeak, and, adamant that there was a child in the room, tears sprung to her eyes. That was not a Micheal she had seen before. The child, the lost little boy.

When he had been kissing her, she had seen, she had felt, a man, who knew what he was, what he wanted, and was going to take her because she was _his. _Others would have been scared of him, but she had merely floated on a sea of lust, pleasure and joy, so thick that she thought she could never claw her way out.

But he had hurt her, at her weakest, most vulnerable moment. He had hurt her because he had been weak _with her, _and he despised Mallory for invoking such a feeling in him.

He was crying now, small sobs that still sounded so childlike, so weak- and he had not considered that she needed help, that she was bleeding, that _he had hurt her and she was hurting and he needed to help. _Micheal was lost in his sadness and grief that he could not move, he could not help to resolve her own.

_He hurt you. _

"Micheal. Please." She choked out, the pain rushing in waves- a potent feeling that could at least take her away from the memories. It was not the pain that scared her. Mallory wanted to run, to run away, but she could not run without his own help. Without her own determination to leave him, to go against the link they held.

_Fuck you. _

He clambered to her, his movements weak and trembling. He was a boy, and not the man that had kissed her, not the monster that had hurt her. Mallory didn't know how many Micheals there were, and which one was real. All she knew was that she wanted all of them.

"I'm _sorry, _I'm _sorry..." _Micheal muttered again, and she saw another memory, this time brought by the waves of darkness, the waves of pain. He was the boy there, with wide blue eyes, devoid of their childish hope in that moment. He was crying, and it was the same words, _the same words. _She felt his pain, his grief, what he was so drawn to and so repulsed by, so repulsed that there was a pulse of joy at the body hunched over the sofa in front of him.

The woman was pale, her body aching- _I'm_

_sorry, I'm sorry, gramma, please- _and it was clear that this was not a murder, this was a suicide, this was planned. She had been in pain- _this was me, my actions, me,- _and she had chosen to leave.

Mallory left the memory with a jolt, faced with the same boy in a different time. He held her with trembling fingers, his tears dropping onto her. At the back of her head, the logical part of her mind, she was reminded that she was drifting in and out of subconscious, that she was injured, that she probably had a concussion.

_That her attacker was now helping her._

She coughed, an alien sound that she was almost amazed came from her own throat. Her hazy thoughts drifted around her mind, and they didn't stay for long enough that she could actually think them. Trapped that she was in his cage, in those blue eyes, her first thought was not that of safety, but always of him.

Mallory raised a hand to his face, cupping it gently- no lust, no passion, no hate. She wanted to see him, to see his soul, to see him bare it to her. She wanted to see all of him.

_"Shit! _What happened to her? Cordelia! Cordelia!" Mallory could hear words now, a panic- stricken voice that she registered as Zoe. She could feel hands on her, pale, clammy hands, and a rush of energy, of power that she inhaled as the darkness came again, counteracting the light. The pain dissipated- and so did Micheal, and she realised that he had left a while ago. She couldn't feel him with her.

The pain dissipated, but the darkness didn't. Someone had healed her, and now they were all crowding around her, the heat of their bodies only increasing her fatigue. "Micheal?" She whispered, before giving in- the last sound she heard a scream, echoing through the halls of her own mind.

The sun didn't shine in her room. Not in the morning, or the long evening after. It seemed that it had been frozen in a perpetual moment of darkness- of that night when he had knocked at her door. All week, she had been stuck in that constant state of sickness, of pain. Her wounds were healed- the wounds that should never have been inflicted by his actions, no matter how strong- and she had been monitored carefully. It was clear that her attack had left a mental toll on her, the only spoken words pleas for Micheal.

Cordelia, on the first night, had asked her what had happened. Her mind had immediately generated a word, a name, an image of the truth, the memory she could not fully reach. But her body had taken action, weaving a web of lies that she had never considered before. That a spirit had pushed her, trapped in the realm of Robichaux, stuck in the building. It had taken it's anger out on her, and Micheal had only heard her cry.

Everyone had believed her- but Mallory wished they didn't.

And as she drifted off to that place, so familiar in the week that had passed, the visions and the fevers fading away- as she drifted away, she felt him with her. She fled his kiss, his lust, and his pain that he had given her.

She felt the darkness- and her lust was for _him. _


End file.
